Second Chances
by My name's AC
Summary: Second chances don't come around very often. Hank knew he had been a lousy, absent father to Hope but he was committed to the thought of not screwing things up with his grandson. (AU one-shot, established Scott/Hope)


**My very first Ant-Man fanfiction because I loved the movie and I totally fell in love with Scott and Hope.**

* * *

Hank studied his grandson's expression for a few minutes. He could feel him itching to go outside and punch the punching bag that had once been in the gym and was now hanging from the garden's tree.

"Why don't you give it a try? Or you don't think you can do it?"

Junior looked at Hank and gave him a lopsided grin – just like Scott's. Hank knew his grandson was only five, but he could already tell two things that were part of his personality: an ego as big as Hope's and a cocky attitude just like Scott's. To speak honestly, Junior was a smaller, younger version of his father. He even got his father's name… The only way to tell them apart _would_ _have been_ addressing to the adult as 'Scott' and call the baby 'Scotty'. But Luis changed everything. He'd come around and call Scott 'Scotty' and then call the baby 'Scotty' as well. It was one hell of a mess. But Luis could win an award, though, for probably being the only person in the world who managed to confuse a one-year-old baby. And that was why Junior was addressed as such. (Thank you Uncle Luis!)

The boy promptly walked to the door, leaving it open for Hank to follow him, which he did. The two were now before the red punching bag and Junior took one last look at his grandfather before delivering his first blow. The punching bag came to smack against him the second after. Junior tottered and took a few steps back due to the impact, and pulled a face. Hank crossed his arms over his chest and smirked; he was just like Hope on that. The two of them pulled that expression whenever things didn't go their way.

"Go on," he incentivized, "try again."

Concentration dawned upon the boy's face and he took a deep, through breath before punching the bag again. This time he hit it harder, and consequently the bag hit him harder as well. Junior fell down right over a small mud poodle, dirtying his torso and getting a few splashes of sludge on his face. He quickly scrambled to his feet and punched the bag again. The boy found himself lying down on the mud poodle once more. Hank had to laugh, he couldn't help it.

"You're awful," the man confided. "You have to avoid getting smacked by the punching bag."

Junior swallowed hard and stared the bag. He loved spending time with Grandpa Hank (which happened at least once a week when he didn't stay with Luis, Kurt and Dave) but sometimes he was a bit crude. Mom had warned him about it but Grandpa Hank was… Grandpa Hank. He loved him, and he was 100% sure he didn't mean to be rude to him. Dad explained him that some adults, like Grandpa Hank, are as grumpy as Donald Duck and that he shouldn't mind when he acts like a grumpy old man.

Hank couldn't help but to smile and occasionally laugh at Junior's poor attempts at hitting the punching bag. He loved having him around, and even if it was just once a week, that was perfect for him; not too much time, not too little time. Hank wasn't fan of the idea of Hope dating Scott, but he learned to accept it. He nearly lost his mind when they announced they were expecting, but he couldn't be angry for too long. He was going to be a grandfather, and he promised Hope he'd be a better grandfather than he had been a father. Hope couldn't say that her father's promise would make up for their past, but at least he was committed to be a good grandfather. And that was enough for her. Her son could say that he had a mother, a father and a grandfather who loved him. That was a lot more than what Hope had ever had.

The boy continued to battle against the punching bag, getting gradually sadder and more embarrassed. Hank just laughed and he was all covered in mud. And he said that he was awful. When he was knocked down by the bag and fell on his face in the mud poodle, Junior had enough. He sat under the tree, back leaning against the trunk, and hugged his knees against his chest. He kept on shooting angry glares at his grandfather but he seemed unmoved. He wasn't concerned or angry about his attitude. In fact, he turned his back at him and walked inside.

After a short trip to the basement, Hank returned to the backyard with a crimson colored rubber tub, one that Hope had used when she was a toddler, and put it in the middle of the lawn. He went back inside a couple more times, bringing kettles full of steamy water and poured them into the tub. The man grimaced after testing the temperature of the water and turned on the garden hose, adding some cold water into the container. Pleased with its temperature now, Hank turned off the water, put the hose aside and went inside (again), bringing with him the hand soap and a bottle of shampoo, leaving them on the grassy ground by the tub.

"Come on," Hank called, hands resting at each side of his hips while he motioned with his head in the general direction of the rubber tub, "you're filthy and I'm not letting you get in the house like that."

Junior slowly looked up at his grandfather, still standing in the same posture, waiting for him, and then looked down again.

"Water's getting cold. Better hurry, Junior."

The boy sighed and got to his feet, walking ahead of his grandfather. He stripped off his muddy clothes and stepped inside the rubber tub, splashing some water on his face. Hank took a seat on the porch steps, keeping an eye on him.

"There's soap and shampoo to your side," the old man said, pointing to the two items.

Junior reached to grabbed them and started washing up, the water acquiring a darker tone as he washed all the mud off his body. Most kids would have forgotten why they were upset by now if they were bathing in a big, plastic tub right in the middle of the backyard. It was fun and different, and they'd be laughing and splashing water all over the garden. But Junior was still upset. Grandpa's words had wounded him and he was still battling against his own will and trying not to shed a tear.

"You let me know if you're gonna be moody for the rest of the day because I have better things to do than looking at your sulky face."

The boy rubbed his eyes, his lower lip protruded in a sulky pout before he couldn't control it. Hank knew he had pushed him too far. Junior's head was hanging low and he was clenching his hand tightly under water, nails digging into his palm. The man knew that the droplets he saw dripping off the boy's chin were tears, but still, Hank didn't budge.

"Wash your head," he ordered in a soft tone of voice.

The kid wiped away the tears with his palms and squeezed some shampoo onto his palm. His thick head of black hair was covered in mud, and the fact that his hair was wavy as his father's didn't make it any easier for the boy to wash away its dirtiness. Hank knew he couldn't do it on his own so he rolled up his shirt sleeves and walked to him.

"Ah, you little rascal," he sighed and continued, now groaning as he knelt on the grass, "the things you make an old man do."

Junior broke down crying, sobbing noisily. Hank stopped washing his hair and cupped the kid's face, forcing him to look at his face.

"Why are you crying?"

"Y-y-you la-laughed," he cried, "and-and said, and said I-I was, I was bad. And now y-you're mad."

"I know what I said, and we both know it is true. Throughout your whole life, people will laugh at you, and be mean and rude and you have to brace yourself and prove them wrong. I won't pat your back and say you're doing great when you're not. And you can't cry when people tell you that you're bad at something. If you cry every time you're hurt or every time you do something wrong, you'll never learn."

The boy listened to his grandfather attentively but he didn't understand. He had laughed, he had told him he was bad, he had hurt him, and so he couldn't stop crying.

"Stop crying," Hank said in a short commanding voice, "and look at me."

Hank gave Junior his time to calm down and pay attention.

"I laughed, yes, but that's because I can't help but to laugh and smile seeing you so happy. And yes, I said you are bad, but I was teasing you. Last thing I want is for you to be like your mother. I didn't take care of her, she aged faster than the other kids, learned things that kids shouldn't learn. I want you to be a child, and I don't want you to try to impress me because I'm a piece of crap who screwed up his whole life and I have no right to demand a single thing from anyone… I just don't want to mess things up this time."

He lost his wife, he pushed his daughter away for too long, but he wouldn't mess it up with his grandson. Hank loved him, and he knew it was reciprocal, which sort of scared him. Junior looked up at him the same way he looked at his parents, as a role model, and that was the one thing Hank wasn't.

"Now," Hank cleared his throat and stood up, "pour water down your head and get rid of the shampoo. I'm getting a towel."

Junior nodded his head and cupped his hands together, scooping up some water and pouring it down his head. Hank returned shortly with the towel, and the boy smiled at his grandfather while standing up.

"Did I get rid of all the shampoo?" he asked, lowering his head for his grandfather to get a good look of his head.

"Yes, it looks good."

Hank wrapped the boy around in the towel and picked him up in arms, carrying him inside. He made the way upstairs, to the bathroom, and put Junior down on his feet. He wriggled his toes when they came in contact with the cold, tiled floor. Hank helped him getting dry and putting on some clean clothes. Hope and Scott always left a bag with a change of clothes for Scott Jr. just in case they were needed. As the couple would arrive late, Hope narrowed down her son's clothing option to his blue and yellow striped pattern pajamas, tee and shorts, as it was summertime.

"C'n we get somethin' to eat? And c'n we see the ants?"

"Sure," Hank placed his hand on Junior's shoulders as they walked out of the bathroom. "I'll get you something to eat and I let you wait in the bunker _if_ ," he emphasized the word, "you promise to behave."

"I promise I won't touch anything. And I promise I won't let the bullet ants get out... again…" Junior added with a giggle as he sprinted down the stairs, heading to the bunker.

The man shook his head but smirked as he sighed, "Little rascal."

* * *

Scott and Hope arrived a few hours later, after dinner time. They knocked a couple of times and realized the two might be down in the bunker so Hope pulled out of her keys and opened the door. It was with some surprise that the couple found Hank and Junior napping on the couch, the man cuddling the boy to his side. Scott and Hope stopped at the living room's entrance, looking at the two of them sleeping.

"And I thought the old man couldn't surprise me anymore," Scott whispered at Hope, even though she had just crossed half the room to get their boy.

"Old man, my ass," Hank muttered, his eyes blinking open, sleep-crusted. He sat up and picked Junior up in his arms, transferring him to Hope's arms.

Scott grinned, addressing again to his girlfriend, "I forgot he has great hearing."

"Great hearing for a man of my age you mean," Hank said sarcastically as he got up.

Hope sighed and rolled her eyes, adjusting her son in her arms.

"He fell in the mud poodle and got all filthy," the old man explained, gesturing at his grandson's pajamas as he walked to the door with them. "I'll give you his clothes when they come back from the laundry."

"Don't mind giving them back," Hope said, stepping outside. "I'm tired of having to bring him and a bag with clothes. Just keep them, in case he needs to change into clean clothes again."

"And thanks for keeping an eye on him," Scott smiled, giving the car keys to Hope so she could put their sleeping boy in the booster seat.

"Next time you want to go on a date night with my daughter leave the rascal with your wombat friends."

(Junior would stay with Hank, Scott's friends, or – very rarely – with Scott's ex when they had to go on missions… or when they wanted a moment for themselves.)

"I – we didn't go on a date."

"So I assume you wear lipstick now," Hank stared him down.

"Alright," Scott gave in, wiping the alleged hint of lipstick off his lips, "we went to have dinner, alright? It's been a while since we've had a time for ourselves and we just took the time to dine and then -"

"And that's all I want to know. Good night."

"Good -" Scott began but Hank closed the door before he could finish.

"Get your ass in here, Scott," Hope called, poking her head out of the car window. "We still have to get Cassie."

Upon hearing his step-sister's name, Junior opened his eyes and enthusiastically asked, "It's Cassie's weekend already?"

Hope looked back at him, "Your grandfather is right, you are a little rascal. Were you even sleeping?"

The boy giggled, "No. Grandpa said we should pretend to be sleeping so we could hear what you and dad would say."

"I should have known better with you two," she shook her head and adjusted her sitting position. "And yes, it's Cassie's weekend."

"Alright," Scott said as he entered the car, "let's go get Peanut."

"Don't call her that. She's fourteen and told me she's embarrassed when you call her Peanut."

Scott smirked, "Hope, all fathers embarrass their daughters. It's sort of an unwritten rule for girls' fathers to follow," he told her, putting the keys in the ignition.

"If this one is a girl," Hope pointed to her stomach, "I'll feel sorry for her."

"What?" Scott looked up, starting to smile, uncontrollably, "You're - you're pregnant?"

"Took a test last night. Three actually, and," her lips drew into a small smile, "I'm six weeks pregnant."

Scott's grin grew wider, "I love you so much. I lo -" he leaned into her, to peck her lips, when he noticed Junior was awake and looking at them, "Weren't you sleeping, Shrimp?" he turned to Hope, "Wasn't he sleeping?"

"He was not, apparently."

Junior giggled and Scott shifted in his seat, starting the car, "We can talk about this later," he told his girlfriend, grinning so hard his cheeks were hurting. "Now let's get _Cassie_ , it's getting late."

(Six and a half months later, Scott and Hope welcomed their baby girl (who Scott immediately nicknamed Pumpkin), Gwendolyn Janet "Gwen" Lang, into the world. She turned out just fine, even though she was born premature, but, just like Cassie, she'd never get through her father embarrassing her.)


End file.
